Confessions of a So-Called Murderer
by ParisIsBurning
Summary: When Gwen is falsely accused of murdering both her husband and several others living within her town, she must leave her fairy-tale life behind and live on the run from the law, falling deeper and deeper into a pit of trouble and petty crime.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This is a re-write of a re-write of a story I've loved but never had the chance to come up with a clear plot/ending for. Now, probably four years since starting the story originally, I have a better idea of where this could go. The original is still going to be left up, mainly for myself as an easy way to access it, but there are lots of changes! Hopefully a lot of improvement in my writing, too.  
_

 _Hope you guys enjoy. I own nothing._

 _xxx_

 **HOW TO MURDER (AND GET AWAY WITH IT)**

 **Once it's done, don't leave the body and run. Don't hide the body. Frame somebody else instead. Leave evidence leading to them. Make it so seemingly obvious that they don't even bother to question it otherwise. Sure, somebody will land some major prison time, but would you rather it be you?**

 **Didn't think so.**

xxx

" _Oh my God, you married Trent from Total Drama Island? Really?"_

You would be surprised how often I heard questions like these. Especially considering Total Drama ended nine years ago. Well, the season I competed on, anyways.

 _"Weren't you like sixteen when you competed? You stayed together_ that _long?"_

Well, yes. I loved him. I still love him.

 _"Isn't that weird for you though? Like, how do you know something better isn't out there?"_

I don't want to find anybody better. I want him.

" _Is it because he got all famous?"_

Ooh, the question I definitely heard the most. Yeah, he's had a successful stint as a music producer, but he's far from "famous". It's not like we had paparazzi following us or anything. We just happened to be fairly comfortable, that's all.

 _"Well, I think you're so lucky. Trent is so attractive. If you dump him, I want him next. Are you guys going to break up anytime soon?"_

Today's questioning happened to come from some pimple-faced, braces-ridden teenager at Toy Central. She couldn't be older than fifteen or sixteen. So question was: how did she even recognize me in the first place?

It was annoying. All I wanted to do was get some early Christmas shopping done for my four-year-old, Ruthie.

She scanned a large pink teddy bear I'd picked out. Ruthie's favorite color.

"You know, Total Drama is making a comeback. It's retro now. I've watched all three seasons on Netflix. The first season was my favorite though. It was before Chris McLean got all old and gross looking. Yeah, all of my friends watch it, you know."

I nodded. What do you even say to things like this?

She stuffed the teddy bear in a giant bag and stapled it shut. "You know, if I had the chance, I would totally get with Chris McLean anyways. He hosts _The It Voice_ now and he's looking pretty _yummy,_ if you know what I mean."

I didn't even bother to hold my gagging back at that point.

"What are you, like fifteen? That's so gross!"

She rolled her eyes, defiantly putting a hand on her hip. "Uh, excuse me! I turn seventeen next week, actually."

I swiped my card and grabbed my bags. "Same difference. Honey, keep all of that in your pants and find somebody your own age."

I flipped my ponytail back from my shoulder and left. I used to feel guilty being snarky towards "innocent" questioners, but by now, it was just plain annoying. My marriage was nobody's business.

xxx

I came home to Ruthie dancing along with some children's show on T.V. and Trent harping away into his work phone. Definitely nothing too out of the ordinary.

Ruthie caught sight of me and immediately got excited.

"Mommy! You're home, yay!"

She hobbled over towards me and jumped onto me. I picked her up and gave her a kiss on her cheek. "How's your day been, sweetheart?"

Ruthie dramatically tapped her chin in fake-serious thought. "It's been an okay day."

I glanced towards Trent. His face was starting to get red in frustration.

"Allison, I asked for those files two weeks ago! I told you there was going to be major trouble if we didn't have them by today at the latest! What's going on here? Tell me the truth!"

His voice raised into a yell. "If you had a family emergency, you should have told me _when it happened_. I've got three execs waiting and both of our asses are about to be on the line! Yes, that's right, you _are_ going to take full responsibility. Look, I'm going to let you go. My wife is home and I expect you to get working on at least getting _some_ progress done on those files."

Ruthie leaned in towards my ear. "Daddy's been scary for a little while now."

He ended the call, tossing his phone onto the nearby couch. His face softened and he pulled Ruthie and me into a hug.

"Hey honey. I'm glad you're home. How did shopping for Grandma go?" He winked.

I wasn't exactly reciprocating the happiness. I had lectured him a million times to not yell on the phone in front of Ruthie, but it seemed to be going in one ear and out the other. Typical.

I did my best to fake a smile. "I believe it's your nap time, Ruthie!"

Okay, so technically she had thirty more minutes, but I needed a moment to step away and cool off. I let her throw her usual "I don't want to take a nap" fit and spent a good amount of time getting her to finally fall asleep.

By the time I made it back downstairs, Trent was already re-wrapped up, shuffling through giant stacks of paperwork spread disastrously throughout our coffee table.

"Form 2B…form 2B…I could've sworn I left it underneath this stack…" he muttered as he knocked one of the stacks off of the table. He quickly reached for another stack and began flipping again, oblivious to the mess.

"Trent," I huffed, putting my arms on my hips.

No response. He picked up yet another stack of papers and flipped and flipped over and over again.

I kneeled down, picking up some of the dropped papers, stacking them neatly on the tiny amount of coffee table space left.

"Trent?"

More shuffling, more sighing, more flying papers. I caught one midair, resisting temptation to crumple it and tear it to pieces.

"Trent!" I screamed.

He screeched, dropping his papers and falling back onto the couch. "Gwen! Oh god, you scared me!"

I slapped my forehead. "Trent, I've been standing here for a while now. How can you be that inattentive? What if it was Ruthie and she was in some sort of danger?"

Trent set his stack of papers down. "I'm sorry, babe. I just really need to find this form. Production is kicking my ass!" He picked up another stack, flipping more and more urgently.

If there was anything I hated, it was being blown off or disrespected. Trent knew that, but didn't seem to really care. I sunk into the couch, folding my arms and staring at him, hoping he would eventually see I was upset and step up to it.

After a good thirty seconds of shuffling, he found the form he was looking for. He cheered silently and stuck it inside a folder, then looked back towards me.

"Why are you just sitting there with your arms folded like that?" he asked obliviously.

At that point, I lost it.

"Trent! What is your deal? You're literally getting so consumed in your work that you're not paying attention to anything else! I told you very specifically to keep your business conversations away from Ruthie, and when I come home you're completely ignoring her because you're too wrapped up in yelling at your poor intern! And I asked you repeatedly not to yell in front of Ruthie!"

Being the calm and understanding person he normally is, I expected him to take a step back and apologize. But for once, he actually argued back.

"Well _excuse_ me for having business to take care of! This is a really important project and I don't have time to take it lightly, not if we want to keep putting food on the table! My intern didn't do what she was supposed to do and I'm supposed to stay calm about it? How is she going to learn?"

"You could've stepped into another room, then! I told you, we don't want Ruthie to think that yelling at people is normal or okay! We _agreed_ on this!"

"But then I would've had to leave Ruthie out of my sight, and you don't want _that_ either! So either way I'm in trouble! That's not fair!"

"Then why couldn't you have just waited to call your intern? Ruthie's nap time was coming up! Since when do you put business before family?"

"Because 'business' has to pay our bills, Gwen! Maybe if you actually _worked_ you would understand!"

"You didn't want me to work because you wanted me to stay home and take care of Ruthie until elementary school!"

"Yeah, except you were too busy going out and spending ridiculous amounts of money on Christmas presents instead of, you know, staying at home and being a parent!"

"I'm always at home taking care of Ruthie! God forbid I go out and do something by myself for _two_ hours! I wasn't even doing something for myself; that's just it, I was buying _Christmas_ presents! Lord knows you couldn't do it, considering you've had your head halfway up your ass lately!"

Trent opened his mouth, but at that point he was just angrily groaning. His face was practically purple. Mine probably was too.

Okay, so the argument was totally ridiculous, but we had both managed to hit a "sensitive spot". He was knee-deep into something huge for work, and I was knee-deep into playing Momma Bear for Ruthie.

My conversation with the Toy Central salesgirl popped back into my head. She was so surprised that two people who met when they were sixteen could still be together and have a successful marriage. Were people right all along?

The guilty feeling in my gut immediately told me "no". As we both sat there in silence, I looked into his eyes and softened. Of course I still loved him, even when I got really, really mad.

Before I had a chance to say something, he stood up, grabbing his folder and his briefcase from the floor.

"I'm going out for a while to take care of this. Don't bother calling. I'll be home when I'll be home."

And with that, he stormed out the front door.

I remained frozen on the couch for probably several minutes, letting the sudden silence consume me. My thoughts started whirling around my head a mile a minute: was I being too harsh? Was I not listening to what he had to say? Was he not listening to what _I_ had to say? Was it really that difficult to see eye-to-eye on little things? Was this going to be our future?

I felt panicked. Suddenly I was terrified everybody was going to be right, that marrying my teenage sweetheart was a bad idea, and that things were only going to go downhill from here.

Of course, if I hadn't been so angry and anxious, or hadn't had _that_ conversation with the Toy Central salesgirl, I would've known that it was just a fight, that those things happen and that it would blow over. But all I could do was sit on the couch and fight back tears.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, calling the one person that I knew could smack some sense into me at a time like this: Duncan.

 _Ring. Ring. Ring._ If there was anything that surprised everybody more than Trent and I getting married, it was the fact that Duncan and I stayed friends after all of these years. Granted, it was a very "low-maintenance" friendship, especially considering the fact that we lived nearly three hours away from each other, but it still worked. At the end of the day, we had each others' backs in tough situations, and could trust each other, and that was what really mattered.

"Hello?"

I felt almost an instant flood of relief hearing his voice.

"Duncan! Hey! Are you busy right now? I need to talk to someone."

"Nah, as of recently, I've basically got all the time in the world. What's wrong Princess? You and Trent at each others' heads again?" Duncan cackled. I could hear the low grumble of a T.V. in the background, along with the obnoxious sound of a potato chip bag being wrinkled.

I looked up at the clock we had hanging on the wall: 3:22 PM. On a Tuesday. I had been so upset that it hadn't even occurred to me it was still "work" hours.

"So, you're not…busy at work or anything?" I asked, the vague sound of fake T.V. laughter answering the question as I said it.

"Nope. I got canned almost a month ago. Too many people, too little profit, blah blah. Been doing a lot of couch surfing lately, actually. I don't know how you do it Gwen. Daytime T.V. sucks," Duncan replied monotonously. "I thought I told you. I tried calling you after it happened but I never heard back. I don't think we've talked since that last big fight you had with Trent, actually."

My wave of panic immediately transformed into a wave of guilt.

"Oh my god, Duncan, I am so, so sorry! Things have been totally crazy over here lately, with Ruthie's birthday and Trent's new production projects and…oh my god, I'm horrible!"

Duncan cackled loudly into the phone and muted the T.V. in the background. "Hey, I understand. It's no big deal. There was a time when I was the busy one and you were the one left hanging. I just figured it was kind of karma. Now let's hear about your girly problems."

"I mean that Duncan. I'm really, really sorry. I owe you one."

"Just start talking, Gwen."

I sighed. "Trent and I got into kind of a big fight just now. I went Christmas shopping for Ruthie and left him to kind of watch her for just a couple of hours. But I got upset because when I came home, I caught him yelling at his intern on the phone even though I've told him over and over again never to yell in front of Ruthie and then he got mad and told me I didn't understand because I don't work but then I told him that he was the one who told me _not_ to work and then he stormed out of the house and now I'm sitting here freaking out because I'm scared he regrets marrying me or that our marriage is just going to plain fail or I don't really even know," I rambled on and on, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation was as I recounted the whole thing aloud.

Duncan stayed silent for several seconds, violently rustling the potato chip bag and loudly crunching into the phone. I could tell he was trying really hard not to laugh.

"Some stupid teenage girl at Toy Central recognized me from Total Drama and was making all of these invasive comments about Trent and me, and then I came home and got into that fight and…I don't know. I guess it just made me feel really insecure."

"Yes, because anybody who still watches Total Drama definitely has the intelligence to assess the quality of your marriage," Duncan retorted between bites of potato chips. "Come on, Gwen. You're better than that."

I paused. He was right; why was I so freaked out?

"I know what's going on here. You're starting to think deep down that this is all some sort of sign that trouble is ahead and that he doesn't love you anymore and your marriage is totally doomed. And being the friend I am, I'm going to just cut to the chase and call the bull on that. So you had one fight. Do you really think it was _so_ bad that your entire marriage is going to fail?"

Damn. He was good.

"Couples fight, Gwen. But I know you're still nauseatingly in love with Trent. And you made up and moved on last time, didn't you?"

I snorted. "It's almost as if you've rehearsed this or something."

 _Crunch._ "Basically have. It's the only reason you even call ninety percent of the time."

I groaned. Now I felt _really_ guilty. "I'm so sorry, Duncan. I'm going to make it up to you. How about I take a trip up there in a couple of weekends and we hang out? Just like we used to. Then I promise I will sit back and let _you_ do all the talking. And I'll even pay for everything!"

"You mean Trent will pay for everything."

"Duncan!"

He laughed, his typical loud, obnoxious chuckle. "No, but that actually sounds great. We're overdo. How about the weekend of the 20th?"

I didn't even bother checking my calendar. "Done."

 _Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._ "Okay. Tell you what. Go and win your Prince Charming back, and I'll talk to you tomorrow and we'll get some details planned out. But you are fully expected to assimilate as one of the Bros during said weekend. You know, since I'm such a great friend and all."

I felt a flood of relief, in more ways than one. "Thank you Duncan. There's a reason we've stayed friends all these years. I'm glad I can count on you. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"I'm always here for you. Talk to you tomorrow."

 _Click._

Trent came home about an hour later, and we both apologized, feeling more level-headed. Then the day went on like normal: dinner time, a board game, arguing with Ruthie about taking a bath, then arguing even harder about going to bed.

However, instead of our normal T.V. time, Trent headed straight upstairs after Ruthie went to bed.

I watched two reruns of _Full House,_ expecting him to come down eventually after some "him time". But after an hour, he was still upstairs, the door wide open.

Did I miss a memo? Did he fall asleep? I switched the T.V. off and wandered upstairs, only to find him sitting in bed, knee-deep (body deep?) in just about every photo album, frame, and loose picture we owned.

I watched him for a good minute. I noticed him lingering on each and every picture he picked up, sometimes laughing, sometimes frowning, and sometimes just smiling.

After about five pictures, he noticed me in the doorway and jumped a little.

"Gwen! Oh gosh, you scared me!" Trent exclaimed, relaxing back into a smile. "Care to join me?"

I shut the door behind me and slid next to him in bed. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Just…reminiscing. It always helps me clear my mind after a rough day." He flipped the picture in his hand towards me. "This one is my favorite."

It was the two of us at the Total Drama finale, when we were sixteen. He had me over his shoulder, and I was pounding his back with my fists and laughing.

I yanked the photo from his hand and examined it, though I'd seen it a million times. "God, why? I still was going through that Goth phase and you wore that hand t-shirt, like, every other day. We were so awkward!"

Trent smiled. "You were beautiful. Still are."

I dropped the photo and turned to him. I felt butterflies looking into his warm, green eyes. Sometimes, it all just seemed too good to be true, even after all of these years.

I leaned closer to Trent, eventually leaning against him and holding his hand. He kissed the top of my head and rubbed my arm.

"You don't regret any of this, do you?" I blurted. I craved that final piece of closure.

"Regret any of what?" He asked softly, pulling me closer.

"Us. You know, staying with the same girl since sixteen. Getting married. Having a family together," I muttered.

"Never in a million years. You're the only one I ever want to be with." He smoothed a piece of hair away from my face. "I love you, Gwen."

"I love you too, Trent." And I meant it.

We tossed the pictures off the bed and just laid there cuddling until the both of us fell asleep. As my eyes closed, I felt all of my worries melting away, knowing tomorrow was a new day.

Because despite the stress, the arguments, the challenges of parenthood, and life's typical happenings, getting to spend my life with Trent by my side felt like a dream come true.

And with that, I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

 _But, as anybody knows, dreams always come to an end._

 _xxx_

I was always notorious for being a really deep sleeper. When I was a toddler, my mom would always brag to her friends about how I would sleep right through severe thunderstorms or outside disturbances, whereas _their_ children were constantly waking them up in the middle of the night, terrified. Of course, as I got older, it set the stage for plenty of less-than-wonderful sleepovers with impatient friends (I always slept in), and even less-than-wonderful pranks from my older brothers.

But to say I slept through _everything_ that happened that night wasn't necessarily true: I was briefly startled awake by a scream and a loud slamming noise, though I wasn't quite able to discern its proximity, and just assumed it was something happening down the street.

"Trent, baby, did you hear that? That wasn't a good sound," I muttered, eyes still shut, drifting in and out of sleep.

Silence. I figured he was still asleep.

I quickly fell back asleep after that, oblivious.

It wasn't until I felt myself sloshing in a pool of blood about an hour or so later than I was completely awoken. But by then, everything was too late.

And, just like that, my dream quickly turned into a nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Sorry that this took a while to get up! School has started up again, and we all know what that means. Thankfully I've been establishing some time dedicated to writing so I can keep it up!  
_

 _Enjoy the story._

 _xxx_

 **HOW TO MURDER (AND GET AWAY WITH IT)**

 **When someone is murdered, what's the first thing they look for? A motive, obviously. I mean, why do you think they always suspect the wife or the mistress or the ex-best friend? You need to make sure you have multiple victims within a short time frame. Why? Because then they won't quite be able to pinpoint said motive. Do the cops know this trick? Of course. They're going to eventually try and figure out who the primary victim was supposed to be. But you've got a** _ **huge**_ **time advantage, because they have to figure out** _ **who.**_ **Then, if you framed somebody else successfully (like you were supposed to!), you've got more than enough time to run and get away with it.**

xxx

The feeling of massive amounts of some sort of liquid pooling around me finally startled me awake sometime later that night. I could feel it sloshing around as I moved.

 _What the hell?_

I fumbled around my nightstand, finding the switch to my lamp, feeling more and more liquid gathering around me as I moved positions.

 _Did I pee the bed? Did_ he _pee the bed?_

I finally reached the switch to the lamp and switched it on, giving me just enough light to see massive amounts of blood covering a good chunk of my half of the bed.

I screamed, suddenly feeling a sharp pain in my side. I jumped up from the bed, wondering if I'd been stabbed in my sleep.

After running in circles and feeling my entire body, I realized the blood wasn't mine. I felt relief for about half a second before it hit me.

Trent.

I jumped back onto the bed, where he was rolled over facing away from me. Blood was pooled all around him.

I attempted to wake him up, shaking him as hard as I could. "Trent! Trent! Wake up! Please! Wake up!"

Nothing.

I could feel my heart beating faster and faster, my pajamas becoming drenched in sweat. "Trent! Something's happening! Wake up now!"

I managed to shake him with enough force to roll him over onto his back. I spotted a stab wound on the left side of his chest. His eyes were open and glazed over, drool dripping out of his open mouth. His skin was starting to turn a sickly green color.

"Trent! Please? Answer me! Please don't be dead! You're not dead, are you? Trent!"

I already knew the answer.

I shook him one more time, which sent more blood spilling out of his chest, causing me to scream.

How could this happen?

I felt a large breeze blow on me, pushing my hair out of my face. I looked over to the window to notice it was wide open.

 _That's weird. I could have sworn I closed it last night._

Pieces of just _what_ happened were starting to come together in my head. This has been intentional.

Somebody broke into our room in the middle of the night and murdered my husband.

More wind blew in, sending my hair flying all over the place. I got up and shut it, peering outside.

There were several police cars on the street, with traffic cones blocking off the entrance. Police tape was wrapped around the front yard of my neighbor across the street, and on the doors of several houses next to it. Several police officers stood in the middle of the street in a circle, some jotting notes down into notebooks.

What was going on?!

I threw some pants on and jogged downstairs, adrenaline rushing through me. I peered outside my front door, only to find bloody footprints leading to a bloody knife and shoes.

I leaned over, picking up the knife to examine it for a good thirty seconds before it registered: somebody was trying to frame me.

 _Fingerprints, Gwen._

I shrieked and dropped the knife, hoping not to catch the attention of the officers, whom by now were situated just outside of my front yard.

I leaned against the side of the house, tiptoeing slightly closer towards the officers, hoping I could catch at least a tiny bit of their conversation.

"She's our only sensible suspect at this point. There's evidence leading straight to their residence."

"And you're sure it's not the husband?"

"Trent Peterson is severely injured, if not dead. It couldn't be him. Gwen is the only person that makes sense. Unless you want to blame the four-year-old."

I threw my hand over my mouth, trying my best to keep myself from screaming.

"We tried knocking on the door and didn't get an answer. Alex is out right now trying to get a warrant. We should have one soon."

"How do you know he's injured?"

"Look through the window."

My breathing grew more and more shallow. It was a wonder I didn't faint. In fact, I felt completely frozen. As much as I didn't want to listen anymore, I couldn't help myself.

"I don't know, Sarah. I think you're jumping to conclusions too quickly. How do we know somebody didn't frame them? We don't even have a clear motivation."

"Successful music producer, money hungry wife who doesn't love him anymore. Easy enough. Haven't they been together since they were, like, sixteen? Lord knows I'd probably have murdered _my_ high school sweetheart if we were still together."

"Okay, but that's still not enough evidence to arrest her. Someone could have just thrown the knife and tennis shoes into their front yard. Happens all the time."

Their conversation paused. I could hear somebody scribbling into a notebook.

"Okay, Alex should be here soon with the warrant. We'll take fingerprints on the knife and on Trent, and if they match her's, we make the arrest. Then we'll go from there. We'll know it was planted if her fingerprints don't show up on the knife. Call an EMS for Trent. If we're lucky, he might still be alive, though unfortunately, it's not likely."

Rational thought would have told me to calm down; they wouldn't be able to make an arrest without a warrant, and they would need more solid evidence. But at that point, all rational thought flew out of my head and I focused on one thing: running away as fast and as far as I could.

I bolted back inside and upstairs, grabbing a duffle bag from the closet and aimlessly stuffing it with whatever I could find: clothes, shoes, toiletries, a couple of blankets. I grabbed all of the cash out of a safe we'd been keeping for emergencies, not even bothering to count it.

As I threw the bag over my shoulder, getting ready to leave, I looked back one last time at Trent, along with the pictures sitting on the floor next to his side of the bed. I wanted nothing more than to lay in bed with him for just a few more minutes, give myself time to try and process what happened.

But I couldn't.

I kneeled down and grabbed a picture sitting on the top: the one from when we were sixteen. I carefully stuffed it into my bag, kissed Trent on the forehead, and left, not knowing if I would ever be able to return.

I charged into Ruthie's room, knowing the police could come inside at any moment. It made my stomach drop to watch her sleeping peacefully, unaware of what was going on around her. I had no idea how I was going to explain everything to her. I hadn't even fully registered what was going on myself.

Before waking her up, I grabbed a bag from her shelf and put a few clothes inside, along with a couple of stuffed animals that I knew she couldn't leave without.

One of her stuffed animals, a purple duck with a squeaker, woke her up as I stuffed it inside the bag.

"Mommy, what are you doing?"

I peeked inside the bag. I had all of the essentials. It was time to run.

"Ruthie, honey, we're going on a little, uh, vacation."

I scooped her up from her bed, grabbed our bags, and ran to the garage, fully expecting to just take off, when one rational thought managed to slip into my head.

 _You can't take your own car, Gwen. They'll be looking for it._

I glanced towards the car keys hanging on the wall and noticed a small one with nothing attached to it. Trent's mom's car. She had recently had leg surgery. It would be at least a few weeks before she could drive again. Just enough time to steal the car. And luckily enough, she only lived a few streets down from ours.

I grabbed the keys, trying to fight the feeling of overwhelming guilt. I wasn't the type to steal.

Then again, I wasn't quite cut out for prison life, either.

I could see through the garage window that many more cops had arrived. Our entire street was illuminated with police lights. I wouldn't be able to go through the front.

"Ruthie, we're not just vacationing. We're going on an adventure," I sighed, making my way towards the back door.

"Like _Dora_?" she whispered, floating in and out of sleep.

"Something like that, yeah."

I slid out of the back door, taking one last look at our beautiful home. If I hadn't had adrenaline rushing through me, I might've felt the unbearable sadness I was supposed to be feeling. But I was numb, and focused on escape. At least for the moment.

"Goodbye."

A two-mile run through the woods in the middle of November was less than pleasant, but I managed to get to my mother-in-law's house before the cold could get to me. Ruthie had fallen asleep on my shoulder, despite all of the bouncing from the running.

Thankfully, the car was sitting in the driveway, rather than the garage. She was a well-known hoarder; she probably ran out of room in there.

I buckled Ruthie into the backseat, adjusting the shoulder strap as low as it could go, silently cursing myself for not grabbing the car seat.

I started the engine, ready to go, when it hit me: where exactly was I supposed to go?

I hadn't counted how much money I had, but I knew it wasn't enough to stay in a motel long-term. Plus, you typically had to give them some sort of I.D., and I didn't want anybody to be able to find me.

I thought of friends, thinking about which ones lived the farthest away, along with the ones who wouldn't be quick to rat me out to the police. Any mutual friend of Trent and I was completely out of the question.

Duncan.

Okay, so he wasn't exactly a "criminal"; he'd only gotten into mild trouble as a high schooler. But I figured juvie would've had a big enough effect to keep him from ratting me out. I knew he would believe me when I told him I was innocent; we never lied to each other, ever.

That was that; I didn't have any longer to think about it. With a three-quarter tank full of gas, I drove, silently praying I could make it there without any issues.

xxx

It took about three hours, but I finally got there around 8 in the morning. His house wasn't _that_ far away, but I drove slowly to avoid getting pulled over or raising any suspicion.

Ruthie had woken up at 7; I stuck to my "adventure" story and gave her my phone to watch T.V. to keep her distracted until we got there.

I hopped out of the car, taking a look around the neighborhood. There weren't too many houses around and they were spread out pretty far apart. It was perfect. At least, in the moment.

I didn't even bother to grab my bags. Not yet, anyways. I unbuckled Ruthie and sat her against my shoulder again.

"Mommy, where are we?"

"At a friend's house. This is, uh, our first stop."

"In the adventure?"

"Yes, in the adventure."

As I headed towards Duncan's front door, I noticed a marked difference in his home just from the exterior. Sure, he was no clean freak, and he definitely wasn't huge on decorating or anything, but he usually managed to keep his house presentable. But the windows had started to take on a yellowish tint, and the grass was overgrown and filled with weeds. There was a spot on the roof that looked sunken in, and underneath, a large chunk of paint had been scratched off. You would think the house had been abandoned, but I could see a few lights on inside.

 _Wow, he's awake already?_

I knocked on the door. No answer.

"Duncan! It's me, Gwen. Open the door!"

Nothing.

I pounded harder and harder, causing my knuckles to go red. Was he still asleep, or ignoring me on purpose? Why were the lights on?

In a last-ditch attempt, I tried jiggling the handle. To my surprise, the door opened.

I slowly sauntered inside, noticing that his kitchen and hallway light had been left on. I could hear faint snoring from the living room. So he _was_ still asleep.

I stepped into the living room. The lights were off but the T.V. had been left on. Duncan was passed out in a recliner, with a couple of beers and an ashtray of cigarettes sitting on an end table next to him.

"Mommy, where are we?" Ruthie asked.

I grimaced. I had been trying my hardest to keep Ruthie from being exposed to cigarettes and alcohol. I'd hoped she wouldn't ask about it.

"Ruthie, sweetheart, this is my good friend Duncan. I think you've met him before, you just don't remember."

"Oh. Okay. Hi Duncan!" Ruthie shouted, waking Duncan.

Duncan screeched, jumping in his seat and running his hand on the end table, probably in an attempt to look for a weapon of some sort.

"Duncan! Don't freak out. It's just me!"

Duncan put his hand on his chest, taking a few deep breaths before responding.

"Gwen! What in the _hell_ are you doing here?! How did you get inside?"

I shrugged. "The door was open. I tried knocking but you didn't answer."

"So you thought it was cool to just _walk inside_?!"

"It's an emergency, Duncan."

Duncan scratched his head. "Damn. I thought I locked the door last night. What's going on that's so important that you had to break into my house?!"

I opened my mouth, and words escaped me. I had spent so much time with running on my brain that it was almost as if my reasoning had completely left.

"I…something…Duncan, something horrible happened last night, and…I just…"

Ruthie cut me off. "Mommy! Look! You're on T.V.!"

"What?"

Duncan reached for the remote and turned the volume on. It was a newscast.

"Police have confirmed seven deaths, including music producer Trent Peterson, along with fourteen injuries, nine being life-threatening, from the shooting in the Wallen neighborhood in Toronto. Police found a knife as well as several other small weapons sitting in the front yard of the Peterson residence. The knife was confirmed to have the fingerprints of Peterson's wife Gwen, who was missing from her home after a warrant was obtained to enter the residence. Police are continuing the investigation and have pinpointed Gwen Peterson as the primary suspect, and a warrant has been made for her arrest."

"Shit," I whispered.

"Police are offering a $350,000 reward for her whereabouts, but for now, she remains missing."

Duncan turned off the T.V. as the picture of me was blown up to take the entire screen. His jaw dropped.

"Gwen. You better tell me what's going on right now."


End file.
